Last night, Charlene went out with some friends, so I asked my boys what they would like to do.  The answer came quickly, “Let’s go hunt for Pokemon.” To our advantage, not too far a drive from home is a Pokemon “Hot Spot.” Yep, nestled along the banks of the Mississippi is a small town with an abundance of historical markers, which draw all sorts of Pokemon action.  The perfect spot.

Folks, that’s not just a big forehead you see…

That’s a forehead covered in glistening Post-Spin Class sweat.  Fitness comeback sweat.

Yep, it’s still a big forehead, but now it screams all sorts of “You got this!” Consider it a Mission Accomplished Forehead.  The bigger the space for Comeback Sweat, the better.  #WinningForeheadStyle

Driving my three boys to school, we passed two of their friends, who were walking to the bus stop.

I turned to my kids and asked in a deep and energetic voice, “Should we invite them aboard our party bus?!?”

Then without prompting and in perfect unison, my kids responded, “Whoa!”

Good thing that so early in the school year, my kids are so eager to show what they have learned.  They have learned how to be silly and how to enjoy life.  Good start to the year.  Good start to life.

For the last six months at work, my mailbox has sat empty.  This really doesn’t come as a surprise, since 100% of my work has been internal and besides the occasional phone call, nearly 100% of my communication has been in-person or via email.  Still, it is kind of sad to see my mailbox sitting all alone.  Waiting.  Just waiting.

Today, I was standing at the copier and I glanced over to see some mail in my box.  My mailbox!  Not only was it mail, but it was also a package!  Oh glorious day!

Witness the package waiting for me.  For me!

Sprinting across the mailroom, which takes about three long steps, I reached out to grab the package.  What could it be?  Who loves me out there?

I glanced at the label and something was wrong.  The package was addressed to a coworker.  It was addressed to “Dave B.” I’m “Dave P.” Something had to be wrong.

I glanced at the mail slots and I saw the culprit, “First Name Alphabetical Listing.” Dave B’s mail slot is right above mine.  I had looked at mail in the wrong slot.  I had the wrong consonant.  I was all wrong.

(Sigh) I guess mail will need to wait for another day.  Good thing that hope springs eternal and stamps are forever.

Charlene has been working at developing a healthy lifestyle for me.  This is a challenge, because (a) I don’t gravitate toward “healthy” and (b) I resist most efforts to point me in that direction.  My wife however loves me and wants me to stick around, so she keeps trying.

In a recent attempt, Charlene mentioned that the gym had an after work spin class on Fridays.  At our old gym, I used to enjoy spin class, but we had moved and I fell out of the routine.

Groaning, Charlene asked why I was so reluctant.  I sighed and mentioned that it would being trying something new.  I was tired of trying new things.  We had recently moved and so much was always “new.”   I was just plain tired of “new.”

Giving me a wise, but loving, spousal glance, Charlene said, “How do you expect the kids to try new things, if you don’t?” Humph, game, set, match, wife.  She was right.  Everything was new to all of us.  Keep trying, that was our job.

As my legs twirled away on the stationary bike, I had done it.  I was sweating and setting an example.  Old dog, new tricks.

At the start of summer, my 9-year-old son Sam set out on an epic quest.  He wanted to solve a Rubik’s Cube before the start of school.  We had only one rule: no looking on the internet (or any other reference, such as an old school book) for the answer.  We would do it on our own.

Every night before bed, Sam and I rested our heads on his pillows and worked on the cube.  Unfortunately, the only skill set that I brought was the ability to solve one side at a time.  Sam would pick a color.  I would solve the side.  Color after color.  Side after side.  Night after night.

Well, school starts tomorrow and the cube still rests unsolved.  We did however get so much more than a picture perfect solved cube.  We got ten minutes of uninterrupted time together every night.  Just Sam and me working toward a common goal.  A nearly impossible goal, but with a reward well beyond any solution.  Secretly, I’m kind of glad we failed, because it was through that loss that we gained so much more.

Color after color.  Side after side.  Night after night.

Post-run and in a rush to get ready for dinner, Charlene and I split up the showers.  She took our shower and I took the “guest” shower in the basement.

I cleaned up and toweled off, only to discover my logistical error.  In my haste, I had forgotten to bring along clean clothes.  I certainly did not want to put my sweaty post-run clothes back on, so I wrapped my towel tight around me and boldly marched upstairs.

Unfortunately, the whole family seemed to be gathered at the top of the stairs to see the sight.  “Gasp!  Shock!  Awe!  Please, dear God make it go away!”  That seemed to be the consensus.  Then my 12-year-old summed it up for the group, “Dad, you seem to be wearing a medium towel, when you need an extra large.” Ouch!  Next time, I guess I’ll use the hand towel, instead of the wash cloth.  #OhMercy #BetterChoicesInTheFuture

This year’s contestant for “Let’s eat something weird at the State Fair” is… SPAM Sushi (no joke).

Oh yeah, it’s real and I gobbled it up.

Cooked SPAM, a fried egg, and rice, which are wrapped in seaweed paper and served with wasabi and soy sauce.

The verdict (from a guy who often eats sushi at lunchtime)…  fun to try, but sadly bland.

Ah, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Summer, thank you for the State Fair.

About twenty years ago, I decided something.  I decided I was done with roller coasters.  Yep, I had no use for them.  They scared me.  I had nothing to prove.  I had nothing to gain.  I did not enjoy them.  It was okay for me to walk away.

As a result, I really did not give roller coasters any thought as we headed to the State Fair.  My boys spotted a roller coaster that they wanted to ride.  We gave them some tickets and off they ran.  See ya.  Have fun.

Seconds later, our youngest returned.  With tears in his eyes, he informed us that he was in the “Yellow Zone” and he could not join his brothers on the ride.  I was confused.  Yellow Zone?  What Yellow Zone?

Well, it turns out that they now have a “Green Zone,” which means that you are tall enough to ride the roller coaster.  A “Red Zone,” which means you are too short.  The “Yellow Zone” however was new to me.  When you fall in “Yellow,” you can ride, but only with a parent.

Ah, Yellow.  That’s new to me.

Ugh.  Really?  My son however was sad.  I was the only one who could fix it.  So, I put on my big boy pants and I did it.  I rode the roller coaster.  My son smiled.  I smiled.  In this one rare instance, walking away is overrated.  For one night and one night only, I came to the rescue of my boy who was stuck in the roller coaster “Yellow Zone.” It was worth it.  Whee!

Who knew that waking up early to make mint flavored and adorably shamrock shaped Rice Krispie Treats…

helping to epically decorate for an office birthday…

including (if you look closely) participating in the creation of a super creepy, but friendly, office visitor…

creating a tiered project plan, which includes a third level, now known as “Sprinkles,”…

then cleaning the white board and creating a very ghostly image of a hand (Boo!)…

collecting Pokemon balls for the kids…

and enjoying a lovely late summer night with brats on the grill…

Who knew that would cause me to fall asleep in a chair?  #PoorTuckeredOutModernMan